


Star Gazing

by TheQueen (NotTheQueen)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU! Famous Milkovich Family, Actor!Mickey, Angst, Beards, Bell Boy Ian, Dysfunctional Milkovich Family, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Heartbreak, Homophobia, M/M, Model!Svetlana, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Producer!Terry, Slow Build, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich, an actor who's growing in popularity, is the son of the world famous producer, Terry Milkovich. Originally from the South Side of Chicago, Terry was adamant of providing his three children with all of the things that he did not have as a child. Willing to do anything to please his father, Mickey follows in his father's footsteps and steps into the spotlight at a young age, unaware of how the popularity would affect him in later years. A closeted homosexual, Mickey's torn between hating himself for something out of his control and hating the world for making him feel like such an outcast for his sexuality. Will meeting someone from a world so different from his own help Mickey? Or is Ian just going to be a cause of so much misery?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ian.

Ian Gallagher's attention is broken at the sound of a vehicle approaching. His fingers quickly straighten his jacket, the bright red a mandatory color of the Red Barron Hotel in which he works, before he steps from the small lobby to aid the arriving guests with their bags.

Ian's white gloved hand quickly pries open the vehicles back seat door before Ian takes a slight step back to usher the couple from the car, a woman first appearing and then a male steps from the car. Ian clears his throat before politely stating the mandatory "Welcome to the Red Barron," and finally allows his gaze to settle upon the male and female before him. The woman, a fairly beautiful one at that with light brown locks that cascade to just past her shoulders and sea foam green eyes that peer from beneath dark lashes, smiles politely in return as Ian gestures for the couple to proceed forward and into the lobby of hotel. 

The look that Ian receives from the male is anything but polite. The shorter male is clean shaven, his dark hair falling messily upon his forehead with brilliant blue eyes that narrow in a glare as he peers up at Ian. The man before Ian, while several inches shorter and incredibly attractive, holds an air of power and intimidation about him. 

Ian furrows his brows, the couple looking increasingly familiar, almost as if he'd seen them before but remains unable to recall the memory stored somewhere within his mind. 

Pushing the thought from his mind, Ian closes the car door after the couple had stepped from the vehicle and quickly hurries to open the main door of the five star hotel. It's then that the woman threads her fingers with the smaller male's and gently nudges him forward, muttering, "Let's go. Show starts in two hours. We must be ready and leave soon." The woman's voice holds a bit of an accent, one that Ian is incapable of placing as he remains with the door propped open. 

"Your items will be brought up to your room shortly. Enjoy your stay." Ian's lines are well rehearsed, having reiterated them hundreds of times before to various other clients who wander through the hotel doors. 

The man allows the woman at his side to move forward, her movements fluid and graceful as she almost glides past Ian and into the hotel, while the male trumps behind her. His expression has not changed from the look of irritation he had worn since he had climbed from the car only moments prior, his eyes narrowing to a glare as he moves to pass Ian and follow his partner through the doors. Ian's eyes quickly fall to rest upon the red walk as the male passes him, sensing the unspoken challenge in the male's eyes as something unsettling and refuses to rise to the bait. 

Breathing a noise of relief as the couple passes and moves into the hotel, Ian casts a grimace at his partner, muttering "Someone certainly had a stick up his ass."

Damien releases a short burst of laughter as both he and Ian move to gather the couple's belongings from the car, clapping a hand to Ian's back as they walk. "I'd be careful, man. If those tattoos are anything to go by, he could fuck you up."

Huffing out a laugh of his own, Ian shakes his head slightly, unwilling to admit that the male would definitely have been able to kick his ass if that were what he had wished to do. "Fuck off, Damien. Get the bags, will you?" Ian demands while playfully pushing the other male in the direction of the car. 

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Ian is surprised to find the dark haired guest looking at him from inside of the lobby, lingering beside the woman he had arrived with at the circulation desk. Swallowing thickly, Ian glances around him to see if anyone else caught the gaze of the man and when he turns to meet the male's glance again, he has already turned and is being lead from the lobby in the direction of the hotel elevator.

"Ian? Are you even listening?" Ian hears Damien question, quickly causing him to shake off his thoughts and turn to face the male behind him. 

"What? Sorry. I was just thinking," Ian murmurs awkwardly, hurrying in the direction of the sleek black vehicle in which Damien is gathering the belongings from. 

"Thinking about fucking the new guy, ey? He looks like he could fuck someone up just for being gay, Ian, besides he's pretty open about not supporting the 'queers' just like his father," Damien rattles off, prior to picking up two of the four bags he had previously removed from the trunk of the vehicle and strides in the direction of the main door of the hotel. 

After a moment, Ian catches what Damien had said and quickly calls out, "Wait, Damien. You know him?" Closing the trunk of the vehicle, Ian grabs the two remaining bags and quickly follows Damien's footsteps as the vehicle pulls from beneath the awning. 

Shouldering open the door as he handles the two suitcases, Ian hastily follows behind Damien as he moves into the backroom behind the circulation desk. As Ian reaches the room, Damien has already lowered his two bags onto the dolly and is gathering the room number of the previously arrived couple. "Suite 34 A. Milkovich," Damien says absently over his shoulder as he scribbles a note onto the information pad about the couple's belongings. "Ian, it's your turn to bring their shit up. I did it with the Hamlins. You owe me for that one."

Furrowing his brows, Ian shifts to peer over Damien's shoulder at the information on the notepad. 'Mickey Milkovich' is the name scrawled across the paper, neatly labeled with Suite 34 A, as Damien had just informed him. The name sounds familiar, but just as with the couple's face, Ian is unable to place it. With the little bit of extra money Ian would make for a tip after bringing the bags up, he wouldn't complain, after all the family could definitely use all of the money they could get. With winter fast approaching, the Gallaghers are putting all of their money in the squirrel fund to try and survive the cold season. 

With a shrug of his shoulders, Ian steps over to the dolly and begins to maneuver it from the small room only to pause when Damien begins speaking. "Be careful, man. Milkovich-"

Damien is cut off by the manager of the hotel, who peers into the room and clears his throat as he glances between the two males. "A car has just pulled up. If you want to keep your jobs, I suggest the both of you get back to work rather than gossiping in the backroom. I will not give you another warning." The male's clipped tone has both Ian and Damien's eyes widening before they both proceed to hurry from the room. 

Moving in separate directions, Damien isn't capable of finishing his thoughts before he moves from the lobby and out the main door to greet the newly arrived guests and gather their belongings. Pushing the button for the elevator, Ian remains waiting patiently for the lift to arrive, mulling over what Damien could have been meaning before their manager had interrupted them.  

Both from the South Side of Chicago, Ian and Damien have been friends for many years and were both ecstatic when they had received the same place of employment at the start of the summer. Heading into their senior year of high school, Damien is eighteen and Ian only a year younger at seventeen. Damien had been among the first people that Ian had informed of his sexuality after figuring out that he was gay in the sixth grade. Since his revelation, Damien had been supportive, if not protective, when it came to Ian and his sexuality as growing up on the South Side of Chicago you weren't met with many people who were accepting of the differences in people. 

Mulling over their previous conversation, Ian steps onto the elevator, pulling the dolly behind him. The lift is large enough for both Ian and the dolly to fit comfortable, with extra space, so with a little maneuvering, Ian manages to press the button for the tenth floor. Rocketing upwards, the elevator takes less than a minute to reach the desired floor, a minute in which Ian uses to righten his jacket another time. 

As the doors to the lift slide open with a soft 'ding', Ian maneuvers the dolly off of the lift and steps out behind it. His gaze rakes over the empty corridor, settling upon the first of two doors on this level of the hotel. One of the nicer suites, only the wealthy are able to afford the room, which again raises the question of how Damien would know someone with enough money to do so. 

Stepping up to the room door, Ian raps his knuckles against the wood of the door, shifting from foot to foot as he awaits to be greeted. Hearing scuffling and quiet cursing from inside the room, Ian furrows his brows, contemplating whether this is the best time to have bothered the couple renting the room. 

Just as Ian contemplates simply leaving the bags on this side of the door and return to his position downstairs, the suite door swings open. Ian's gaze falls upon a shirtless male, the dark haired male from earlier. Upon seeing Ian, the slight smile that had graced his lips quickly falls and his eyes narrow, resuming the glare he had presented Ian with only shortly before. 

Swallowing thickly, Damien's warnings play throughout his thoughts before Ian manages to push them off and clear his throat, recalling the name of the male renting the suite. "Mr. Milkovich, these are you bags. Would you like me to bring them inside for you?" Ian questions, the rehearsed line coming out on a monotone, a line that he has said far too many times to truly care what the answer would be. 

A slight scoff leaves the male's lips and his blue eyes roll, as if what Ian had said had somehow been offense in some way or another. "I can see that they are my bags, thank you for pointing that out." Remaining blocking the doorway for another moment, it's only when Ian recognizes the woman's voice from down stairs calling from the inside of the suite that the male even contemplates moving. 

"Milkovich, let boy in. He has bags, no?" The accent is harsher than Ian remembers it as earlier and he easily manages to determine that it is Russian. 

Mickey's glaring at Ian before he reluctantly moves to the side to allow Ian to push the dolly into the suite. As Ian steps forward, his gaze flickers across the space of the main room of the suite, only having been in the room a select number of times. 

The woman who had previously demanded that Ian be let in is standing before the couch, clad in only a towel as her damp hair falls freely over her shoulders. While her voice had sounded friendly enough, Ian is met with yet another glare before the woman begins to sift through the contents of her purse. As she releases her towel, Ian fears that it will fall and he will be met with the naked appearance of the woman before him, he quickly turns his attention to removing the bags from the dolly and setting them to the left of the door. 

Within moments, Ian straightens and is startled that the woman has moved stand directly in front of him, her movements across the room had been silent. Silencing a noise of surprise, Ian grasps the bills that she extends in his direction before tipping his head in a slight nod. "Thank you, ma'am. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to dial the front desk and ask for anything you find yourself in need of." 

With a wave of a hand, Ian finds himself dismissed and quickly maneuvers the dolly out of the suite. Risking a final glance at the other male in the room, Ian notes that the glare he had felt on his back the entire time has not softened. Edging out of the door, Ian hears the sharp slam of the door behind him prior to hurrying in the direction of the elevator. Ian knows when he is not welcome somewhere, and when you are not welcome it is best to make yourself scarce. 

Stepping gratefully onto the elevator with the dolly to his left, Ian allows himself to count the bills that he had received. Thirty dollars is what he had been presented with. While a decent amount of money for simply bringing someone's belongings to them, Ian had hoped that there would be more, clearly the couple could afford such if they had the money to rent such an expensive room. 

Pushing the thought from his mind, Ian steps from the elevator and returns to his post outside the hotel door to welcome guests as they come. As Ian hurries to his post, he casts Damien a slight smile joined with a small nod of his head. 

Ian's attention is quickly captured by the flash of a camera, the sound of numerous people surrounding the front of the hotel interrupting his thoughts. Casting a confused glance in Damien's direction at the numerous males before him, all holding cameras and staring directly through the hotel doors and into the lobby, Ian finds himself mulling over what could draw such a number of males to the hotel. Something of this kind had only happened once before and that had been when Terry Milkovich had stayed for a night before attending an award show throughout the summer months.

Ian's thoughts suddenly stop and his eyes widen as a realization hits. 

Terry Milkovich, world famous producer of nearly a dozen number one movies in the last fifteen years alone, has three children, the middle child is dark haired, pale skinned boy, named Mickey. 

Ian quickly runs a hand over his face to hide his surprised expression, kicking himself for not catching on sooner. 

Mickey Milkovich, the rising actor and son of Terry Milkovich, is staying at Ian's hotel and for some reason, already seems to have a chip on his shoulder pertaining to Ian. 


	2. You Act As If My Weaknesses Aren't On Display For Everyone To See.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mickey had come to the conclusion that something was wrong with him. Something had to be. How could he find other males attractive, how could he think the things that he did about other men, without something being wrong with him?"

Gritting his teeth, Mickey rolls onto his side and narrows his eyes in a glare in the direction of the window, as if it had some how managed to personally offend him. Maybe it had in fact done just that as the curtains allow a constant stream of sunlight into the master bedroom of the suite, despite the fact that Mickey is positive that he had drawn the curtains before he had crawled into bed the prior evening.

Drowsily dragging a palm across his face, Mickey squints his eyes against the glare of the sun before he rolls onto his back. Tipping his head to the side, Mickey casts a glance at the clock sitting on the mahogany bedside table. '10:21' it reads, and Mickey grits his teeth in annoyance. 

It's hours before he has to be awake, hours before he has to drag himself from bed to face the repetitive questions of the reporter interviewing both himself and Svetlana. Despite this fact, Mickey has been awoken and he knows himself well enough to know that there is no chance that he'll manage to fall back asleep. 

Swinging his legs over the edge of the plush king size bed, Mickey pushes himself into a seated position and allows his gaze to flicker over the illuminated room disinterestedly. The previous night when he had finally managed to drag himself from the after party and back to the hotel, Mickey had practically been dead on his feet and hadn't taken the opportunity to appreciate the silence of the space. 

His gaze focuses on the dark screen of the television positioned strategically in the corner so it is angled in the direction of the bed for a moment before Mickey stumbles to his feet and in the direction of the en suite bath. He blurrily rubs the sleep from his eyes as Mickey's opposite hand drops to scratch idely at the bare flesh above the waistband of his boxers. Because Mickey's luck is never on his side, he strays from his course, stumbling slightly over the clothing he had messily shed the previous evening and rams his toe into the corner of the door jam. 

"Fucking fucker," Mickey bites out, hobbling slightly on one foot as he narrows his eyes in a glare at the wooden offender, his foot throbbing painfully. Gritting his teeth, Mickey limps into the bathroom, switching on the light as he glances warily at his foot. While the lack of blood is relieving, Mickey strings together a series of colorful words as he stumbles in the direction of the toilet.

Standing before the toilet, Mickey begins to pull on the waistband of his boxers before the sharp sound of the master bedroom door being slammed open and the heavy footfalls of a person fast approaching causes Mickey to tense. Wide eyes turn to focus over his shoulder as Svetlana rounds the corner and appears in the doorway, her expression conveying her obvious annoyance at having been awoken. The dark smudges beneath her eyes and the tangled mess that is her light brown hair gives away the fact that Svetlana had been rudely awakened by something long before she had intended to arise, and for a moment, Mickey fears that he is the perpetrator. 

"Milkovich, tell father to stop calling. I get sleep or you no longer have dick," Svetlana grits out, her accent sounding impossibly thicker given the fact that she had only just awoken. Thrusting the phone in Mickey's direction, Svetlana elevates her eyebrows while an impatient expression contorts her face. Helpless to do anything else, Mickey hurriedly grasps the device from the angry Russian woman, his wide eyed gaze remaining trained upon her even as she turns to storm from the room. Mickey is scared of few people, but that woman surely is on the short list.

Wearily staring at the device, Mickey attempts to steel himself for the unavoidable conversation with his father before finally raising the phone to his ear. "The fuck you want?" Mickey grinds out, attempting to make his voice void of any emotion except for the bitter distaste that always settles in when Terry contacts his son. 

"That woman just threatened you and you didn't put her in her place? Oh, that's right, you're too much of a pussy. Some Milkovich you are," Terry's amusement and blatant disgust is evident over the line as he chastises Mickey.

The mere sound of his father's voice is enough to have Mickey tensing, his shoulders hunching as he bows his head in something that can only be shame. Not for the first time in his life, Mickey is grateful that his father is only speaking to him on the phone and is not present to berate his son for the weaknesses that he's displaying. 

Without waiting for Mickey to offer a response in his own defense, Terry steamrolls on and states, "So you got your queer ass award last night, huh? Let me tell you somethin', son." Mickey can hear Terry pause to take a drink of some liquid, undeniably the alcohol that he bathes himself in to avoid the reality of his life. "The shit you're doing won't get you anywhere. The only reason these people have given you these jobs is because you're my kid. Stop leeching off my name and making me look like a man who had a stupid bastard for a son. For Christ's sake, you can't even get yourself a decent fucking role, what the fuck good is that shit award going to do for you anyway?"

Mickey doesn't bother offering his father a reply, years of experience reminding him that the insults would only worsen if he were to say a word in his own defense. 

At the age of fourteen, Mickey had discovered something that differed himself from his siblings. Mickey found himself staring at other males, finding his own gender far more attractive than that of the women his brother oggled. Growing up with Terry peering over his shoulder, Mickey had learned early on that the prospect of finding another male attractive was wrong, horrific even, if one were to ask his father. Terry's threats of 'beating the gay' out of several men wore heavily on Mickey from the time that he discovered that he, in fact, was gay. In all honesty, Terry's words weren't always just threats and Mickey himself had seen his father's fist collide with another man's flesh in a brutal assault just for that reason, which had been one main reason as to why Terry had spent a number of months in a corrections facility.

Internalizing his father's views, Mickey had come to the conclusion that something was wrong with him. Something had to be. How could he find other males attractive, how could he think the things that he did about other men, without something being wrong with him? It was then that a hatred for both himself and the media's interpretation of a gay male had curled in his gut, causing the young teen to develop a self loathing that no one was able to see. Mickey knew that his father would think his thoughts pertaining to other males were wrong, but no matter the times that he tried, Mickey couldn't correct or fix himself to be the 'normal' child he knew he should have been.

"I'm ashamed, Mickey, to call you a child of mine. What's next? You going to tell the world that you're a fag?" Terry practically taunts over the line, the sharp found of his laughter causing Mickey to recoil like he had been slapped.

Flexing his jaw, Mickey straightens, an attempt to make himself seem taller than he truly is despite the fact that Terry is unable to see him. His father's brutal words should have no effect on him. Mickey desperately wishes his father's words had no effect on him, but the truth of the matter is that it would never seize to feel like a kick in the gut every time his father vocalized his disgust with his son. The disgust that Terry displays now always raises the same question in Mickey's eyes. What would he think if he knew that Mickey was gay?

"You find something better, or you stop the shit that you're doing. It's a mystery that Svetlana puts up with your pathetic ass. You're already a shame to the Milkovich name," Terry grounds before the line goes blank, leaving Mickey with his phone clutched in his hand and a sour taste in his mouth. 

It's moments later that Mickey finds himself standing before the shattered remains of the bathroom mirror. Bits of the mirror scatter at his feet, his pale knuckles bleeding as Mickey flexes his fingers. An expression of shock crosses over Mickey's features as he risks a glance at himself in the cracked remains of the mirror. "Fuck," Mickey practically bellows as he shakes his fist at his side, a weak attempt to rid himself of the pain ebbing into his fingers. 

Self deprecating thoughts reel through Mickey's head. Hatred for who he is and who he has become circle through his head as Mickey glowers at himself in mirror, thus it takes several moments for him to realize that there is a presence to his left.

Turning his head, Mickey catches sight of Svetlana lingering in the doorway, her expression displaying her uncertainty of whether she should approach the wounded man or not.  Mickey schools his expression to prevent the woman from seeing any sign of his own weaknesses before he turns to face her completely. "I, uh, didn't mean to wake you. You can sleep now," Mickey mumbles, his voice displaying the emotions that he so strongly struggled to keep hidden, even from himself.

With a shake of her head, Svetlana tucks a strand of light brown hair behind her ear before moving forward and guiding Mickey back to rest upon the now lowered toilet seat. Allowing himself to be moved, Mickey falls heavily upon the closed lid of the toilet and allows his head to loll back as his eyes fall closed in an attempt to avoid the pity that would no doubt be written upon her face.

Cool fingers glide over the flesh of Mickey's hand, raising his arm to allow Svetlana to view his bloodied knuckles. The silence that stretches between the two of them is stiffening, Mickey focusing on attempting to gather control of himself and his emotions after the destructing conversation with his father while Svetlana focuses on inspecting the self-inflicted wounds on his hand. It's in that moment that Mickey finds himself grateful for the woman before him, grateful that she has managed to not only put up with his shit for the last eleven months since their 'romance' had begun but to go as far as embrace Mickey as a friend of her's despite his many evident flaws.

Mickey and Svetlana had met eleven months prior and despite the chemistry that the media of the industry had played upon, neither of them could view the other as anything more than a friend. Their relationship, which had started with harsh words and the inability to bear being in a room with the other for more than a few minutes at a time, has been a pure business arrangement from the start. Mickey has used Svetlana as a cover, an attempt to reduce the complaints of both the media and his father at Mickey's lack of romantic interests, while Svetlana has used Mickey's growing popularity in the film industry to increase her own popularity in the modeling industry. Making this a mutual exchange that has worked well for the both of them thus far.

The rough sensation of a damp cloth wiping over Mickey's knuckles has his eyes flying open and his teeth sinking into his lower lip to prevent himself from release a series of colorful words in an expression of his pain. Flexing his fingers, Mickey stop just shy of forcing his hand away from Svetlana's as she wipes away the blood from his hand. Rather than focusing on the sensation of pain spreading throughout his knuckles, Mickey allows his gaze to focus on the woman crouching before him, finding himself, again, surprisingly grateful for her presence.

Over the last several months, Mickey and Svetlana grew from tolerating each other to allowing a peaceful friendship to settle between the both of them. Despite Mickey's inability to acknowledge the fact, Svetlana knows Mickey better than any other person, all save for Mandy who is the only person in Mickey's dysfunctional family that he actually gives a damn about. Svetlana is the only other person that knows of Mickey's sexuality and, to Mickey's surprise, has embraced it. 

"Done, Milkovich," Svetlana murmurs softly, rising from her crouch to skirt around the scattered pieces of glass to stride from the room. Lingering in the doorway of the bathroom, Svetlana flicks a last glance at Mickey over her shoulder before she tosses the bloodied hand towel into the corner of the bathroom and strides from the room without asking a simple question pertaining to what had caused Mickey's sudden outburst. 

Remaining seated on the edge of the white marble toilet, Mickey stares after the woman, a slight smile curling upon his lips despite the circumstances. One of the things that Mickey finds himself liking about Svetlana is that she not only accepts Mickey as another person, but truly seems to understand the complexity of the Milkovich family, the members of which she has met on numerous occasions. 

After several moments, Mickey rises to his feet and moves from the bathroom, moving around the shattered remnants of the bathroom mirror as he strides into the main portion of the master bedroom. Casting a wishful glance at the bed, Mickey knows that he will be unable to fall back asleep and the effort would the futile. With a sigh falling from his lips, Mickey's fingers secure around the jeans that he had abandoned on the floor yesterday before leaving for the award ceremony, quickly pulling on the material and buttoning them. Grabbing the rumpled shirt that he had adorned yesterday, Mickey quickly pulls the material over his head, unbothered by the fact that he had worn the outfit only yesterday.

Running short fingers through his dark hair, Mickey casts one last glance around the bedroom before stumbling from the room and into the main portion of the suite. Silencing his movements, Mickey pats his pocket in search for his wallet, glancing around him when he comes up empty. Spying the object sitting on the mahogany end table, Mickey quickly moves to retrieve the item before soundlessly moving in the direction of the suite door. If he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he could at least do something productive such as fetch both himself and Svetlana breakfast as a way to make up for waking her at such an early hour after remaining out so late the previous evening. 

Crouching quickly, Mickey's fingers secure around his shoes before he rises to his full height and saunters soundlessly in the direction of the door, taking the extra precaution of waiting to put his shoes until outside the room to avoid awakening the woman once she falls into a slumber again. His fingers curling around the door handle, Mickey pries open the door as soundlessly as possible before stepping into the hall and closing the door as silently as before. 

Moving in the direction of the elevator, Mickey impatiently presses the button for the elevator, hitting the button repeatedly when the lift doesn't arrive quickly enough for his liking. 

The doors open with a 'ding', in which case Mickey quickly steps into the enclosed space and jerkily pulls his shoes onto his bare feet before pressing the button for the correct level. Slouching back against the cool metal wall, Mickey allows his eyes to fall closed as his head rests against the surface behind him and attempts to focus on anything but the conversation he had with his father. 

The sound of the lift doors parting has Mickey's eyes falling open as he takes in the barren lobby before him before he quickly exists the lift. For a second, Mickey second guesses his heedless decision to leave the suite in order to simply escape his thoughts because leaving the protection of the hotel may mean being recognized by people who both knew him as Terry Milkovich's son and the budding actor from numerous recently released films. 

After another moment, Mickey continues in the direction of the main door despite his hesitation to leave. Considering that he's this close to leaving already, he doesn't see the point in turning tail and running back to the sanction of the suite room. He's a Milkovich after all, and being a Milkovich means that you face your fear with a sneer upon your face and refuse to show signs of weakness no matter the situation.

As Mickey moves from the lobby and into the warming Chicago morning, he finds himself wishing that he had chosen to stay in the hotel rather than leave as he finds himself facing the young bell boy who had brought their belongings to them last night before the show. The ginger male is several inches taller than Mickey, his pale flesh is littered with freckles, and his lips a soft pink that had captured Mickey's attention for a brief moment before he had forced himself to school his expression and instead had turned the male a glare.

His eyes narrow now, even as the younger male smiles politely in Mickey's direction and tips his head in a nod. "Good morning, sir. Enjoy your day," the other male states, his voice almost monotone and void of any emotion, like he had rehearsed his lines far too many times, even has he levels Mickey with an intense gaze. The redhead's focus remains on Mickey's face, almost as if he's searching for something to be written on Mickey's face, searching for Mickey to give something about himself away.

Mickey refuses to greet the male with anything other than a tip of his head, itching to get away from the male and his intense gaze. Striding down the pathway and in the direction he knows his car had been parked after returning to the hotel the previous evening, Mickey is eager to escape the presence of the other male. The male's intense gaze makes Mickey feel vulnerable, like thoughts and emotions could be observed as if he were an open book. The redheaded male makes Mickey feel as if his thoughts were on display, even if the other man acted like Mickey's weaknesses weren't on display for everyone to see, which at this point in time is exactly what Mickey needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter posted. I'm not certain that I like this one as much as the first. I may rewrite this one in the next couple of days, but I'm going to post this anyway until I think of something better to go one. Thanks for the positive feedback this far. Hope you enjoy. ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and the bathroom mirror. Way to go Mickey.

Ian is unsure of what he expected from the actor, but he had not considered the idea that the male would completely ignore the greeting. Perhaps he had been naive to think that he, a man from the South Side, would be greeted and treated like a person of significance before the eyes of one of America’s “finest”.

The knowledge that he has been dismissed by a well known individual in the acting world should not sting the way it does. The fact should not weigh heavily on Ian’s mind as it does. Despite the fact that Ian is aware that it shouldn’t, there is little that he can do about it as they do.

Even as Damien continues his chipper attempts at starting a conversation, oblivious to the other’s distress, Ian’s mind never wavers from the Milkovich guest; seeking a reason to explain the agitation and blatant disgust Mickey had displayed while considering Ian. It’s known that the Milkovich family has a reputation for despising the members of the queer community, but there are few that are aware of Ian’s orientation. Had he let something slip in front of the raven haired male?

“Excuse me,” Ian states abruptly, dismissing himself from the conversation beneath the guise of desiring a break. Heavy footfalls lead the male to the door of the break room, to which Ian slips soundless inside. A deep breath is exhaled as his fingers card through his ginger strands.

“Get a grip on yourself,” Ian mutters angrily. Why allow a man who will be removed from his life in days time to make him feel so insignificant? Ian is already feeling the sensation at home, why allow it to continue at the place of his work? With four siblings crowded inside the Gallagher home, Ian often finds himself feeling insignificant and troubled. There is little attention to spare as Fiona struggles to make ends meet and Ian, himself, works to offer aid to the family finances.

“Gallagher, what the fuck you doing in there? I’m not paying you to screw around all day.” The words can be heard through the door as the manager of the hotel bustles past. There goes the quiet.

Ian’s fingers shift to adjust the material of his shirt, making certain that his attire is presentable, before progressing from the breakroom. Nearing the entrance, Ian pauses at the sound of his name being spoken.

“Gallagher, a call has been placed from Suite 34A, something about a broken mirror. We’re backed up with the renovations on level two. Go see what you can do and then call maintenance to do the rest.” The words are a clear order from the individual manning the front desk, leaving little room to argue.

Without being told, Ian is already aware that suite 34A belongs to the Milkovich couple. The positive of the notion is that Mickey has left the suite, leaving Ian with time to investigate the issue without the weight of the male’s gaze upon him. Desperate to avoid another warning for lack of involvement on the job, Ian moves quickly to secure a maintenance cart before moving in the direction of the elevator.

It is mere moments before Ian’s knuckles are tapping against the wood of the door, shifting from foot to foot as his gaze flickers across the corridor. ‘Please let me get this done before he gets back,’ Ian repeats the words in his head until the barrier that is separating the hall from the suite is removed.

Before him stands the stunning woman that is no other than Mickey Milkovich’s partner, leaving Ian with an air of awe and an emotion that he is incapable of placing. Even in her rumpled state, the woman holds an air of power that Ian could only dream of holding. Ian is silent for a moment, obviously staring at the woman before him, before hastily stating, “I’m here about the mirror?”Ian is aware that the words appear to be more of a question, mentally kicking himself.

It is clear that Svetlana believes he has made a fool of himself already, if the amused expression upon her face is to go by. “This way,” are the only words spoken by the woman before she leads Ian into the suite, moving swiftly into the main bedroom of the suite and into the bathing chambers. Ian follows quickly in her footsteps, pushing the maintenance cart before him as he moves.

Despite his attempt to follow directly behind the woman, Ian is incapable of pausing briefly to inspect the main bedroom. It is undoubtedly currently housing one individual and that person appears to be male, leaving Ian with the interpretation that Mickey and Svetlana share separate quarters.

Ian is just grasping the information when he hears the accented voice call from the bathroom, “The mirror is here, not in the bedroom.”

Ian’s cheeks are flushed with a faint blush, aware that he has been caught in the process of snooping. Stepping into the confined space of the bathroom, Ian quickly assesses the damage. The shattering of the mirror indicates that an object collided with it and the small flecks of blood on the bathroom sink indicate that it was a human fist. Brief inspection of the female’s hand displays that it was not her fit of anger that caused the damage. That left only one individual.

“I’ll get the glass cleaned up and then maintenance will be up as soon as possible to install a new mirror. I will be out of your hair shortly,” Ian states, voice monotone as he focuses on his task before him. The male is oblivious to to woman departing from the room as he sets into the motions to cleaning the space of all damages.

Ian’s mind is focused elsewhere, considering the idea of senior year and college. He’s focused upon his family and consequences of his father’s latest arrest. His distraction is the reasoning that he is oblivious to the approach of footsteps until they are directly outside of the bathing chambers

  
“I’m nearly done,” Ian begins to state, raising his head with the expectation that Svetlana will be the person he makes eye contact with. Ian’s eyes widen at the sight of the raven haired male before him. ‘Oh shit,’ Ian silently curses as Mickey’s eyes narrow in a glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while. Please forgive me. I fully intended to write this before now, but I found that I had writer's block when it came to this particular story. Also, I have actually stopped watching Shameless, so I haven't seen the newest season. I'm still going to write this piece and perhaps others, they simply won't include details from seasons that I have not watched. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this piece. As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.  
> xo

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in the Shameless fandom. The idea just came to me and I hope it plays out the way that I imagine it to. It is unbeta'd so if there are any errors, please don't hesitate to politely inform me. It may take time for me to post new chapters as I can get busy, but they will eventually be posted. I hope you enjoyed and continue to read them as I post. ~


End file.
